


Hold On (I Still Need You)

by AtropaApis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fuck Chuck and Lucifer tho, Hurt/Comfort, I have committed a war crime, M/M, Possession, Psychological Torture, Vague descriptions of torture, i swear it gets better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtropaApis/pseuds/AtropaApis
Summary: Michael is use to pain but when he hits his breaking point he shatters. Adam is there to pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Michael/Adam Milligan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Hold On (I Still Need You)

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to the discord server (you know who you are) for not only recommending Reset Michael but being a huge source of inspiration

There was a lot that Sam Winchester was prepared for. They had warded the bunker like a nuke was going to drop on them and given they were trying to kill God it wasn’t that far off. Leaving the bunker was fairly limited for their own safety even though Sam knows they couldn’t ever really hide from Chuck. Still, it helps Dean sleep at night at the very least. So, there is a lot Sam expects, he expects Chuck to barge in and end it all, he expects Castiel and Dean to fight, he expects the monsters popping up in the news to go up, he expects to be exhausted and worn thin. He does not expect his baby half-brother to be banging on the bunker door soaked to the bone and pissed off. Correction, he expects Adam to be upset as a rule of thumb, but he does not expect for Adam to push past him stomping into the bunker, not even giving Jack a second glance as he passed him. Dean is on guard the moment he spots Adam while Castiel looks slightly more worried and that, Sam decides, is never a good thing.

“How did you fuck up the one job you have.” Adam snaps bristling, cold and burning from the inside out. He’s used to be being snug in the furnace that is Michael’s grace but now it’s cold and there is only the dull throb that tells him Michael is still alive. Alive and suffering. Dean opens his mouth, but Adam is already out of patience from having to hike to their super-secret bunker in the rain and having Michael ripped out from him. “We trusted you. Did you really think he wouldn’t know who gave you that spell? And you didn’t even use it?” He had tried, he had had vouched for them when Michael didn’t want to help. He promised Michael it would be okay, they would stick together and let his brother’s run head first into the fire. The Winchester’s if nothing were tenacious. They would get the spell to Chuck and it would be over.

They would be free.

Michael’s wings failed over Chicago. They had been flying, coasting really, over the city instead of the fast flurry of feathers that made up teleporting. The intention had been to stop to check out some sights and then head to Paris because Adam had always dreamed of going. It was supposed to romantic, a date without the pressures of the world collapsing in on itself on their backs. Instead, Michael had suddenly banked and lost control, it’s a special kind of pain to have an archangel freak out inside your body. He imagines it comparable to having your spine broken as Michael tried to break from whatever was ripping them apart. He ends up getting flung back to the cemetery where they had fallen into the cage and no Michael soothing the panic rising in his chest. He knows that very little could rip Michael out of him without being there to do it. There is a crack of pain that isn’t his own, he learned to tell Michael’s pain from his own in the cage, which gives him enough hope that Michael is alive. For now. He ends up finding a bus station, a crumpled 20 in his pocket, and a sympathetic cashier that makes up the difference so he can get on a bus to Lebanon, Kansas. It had started raining to flood the world on the way there which only soured his mood further. He had spent the 3 hours and some change rubbing his chest uncomfortably hoping that it did _something_ , _anything_ to smooth over whatever pain Michael was in.

He has to give the cliff notes to his brothers and associated parties before he pukes, and Sam is perceptive enough to cut Dean’s integration short shoving a spare change of clothes into his hands and giving him one of the many rooms in the bunker. He sleeps but he couldn’t say for how long, only that when he stumbles out of bed the bunker is quite and without windows to confirm he can only assume its nighttime. It takes a ridiculously long time to find the kitchen but when he flicks the light on, he nearly has a heart attack at the figure sitting on the floor in the dark with his hand shoved into a cereal box. It’s the Nephilim, Jack, he corrects mentally as he steps into the kitchen watching Jack watch him. “Hi.” He tries awkwardly, he can see a coffee machine, but he hasn’t moved.

“Hi.” Jack repeats back to him and shoves another fistful of sugary confection into his mouth. The tension breaks then and Adam shuffles towards the coffee machine like a zombie well aware that Jack is watching him. He’s used to it, the staring, he used to babysit in high school for extra money he’s already learned to ignore it. Angels stare a lot too, but they are rarely actually looking at you just your soul. “Are you okay?” Jack asks him and Adam clenches his jaw.

“No.” He’s not okay, he can’t even pretend to be okay until he gets Michael back.

“What’s wrong?” Jack presses eager to help, he can hear it in his voice and keeps him rooted enough to count to three. He’s not mad at Jack, he doesn’t even know him, but his nerves are frayed from having his angel ripped out of him. Knowing he’s in pain and not being able to do anything about it feels as helpless as the first time he died. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that everyone Adam loves get’s violently taken from him. First his mom and now Michael. He knows Michael can handle pain, he’s a soldier and Adam has seen the scars marring his grace for all the battles he’s won. But if it’s God, and it’s not really an if he _knows_ it’s God, he isn’t sure how long Michael can hold out. He’ll rip Michael apart and rebuild him if he has to Adam knows that much and Michael is still raw from their time in bunker. He’s vulnerable, Adam was supposed to be his guide. Protect him and help him navigate the hardships of having free will. What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that Adam can’t catch a break, he’s drowning and can’t get his head above water. What’s wrong is that his…his something, his angel is in danger and there isn’t anything Adam can do about it.

“I’m cold.” He says instead banging his hand against the coffee machine until it graciously starts brewing the only life line Adam has.

“Why?”

Deep breath Adam. In, out, in, out, in, out, 1 2 3.

“Because I’ve had a comet living in my body and it got ripped out me without warning. So, I’m cold.” He tries not to snap but he knows he’s failed when he turns, and Jack looks away from him.

“I’m sorry.” Jack mumbles as Adam braces against the counter.

 _“Don’t say I’m sorry for your loss”_ He thinks to himself; Michael isn’t dead yet and even if he did Adam would drag his feathered as back because Michael was his damnit.

“What is he like? I met Gabriel and…and Lucifer.” Jack ventures closer timid and small as he offers up his pilfered box of cereal. “I’ve only met the other Michael. I don’t think he would the kind of person to take care of a vessel.” Jack admits awkwardly. Adam could say the cage changes people, but it doesn’t, not really. Not if you don’t let it. Michael has always been kind, he knows that, but the pressure had been killing him. Forcing him to be something he wasn’t to be what others needed him to be. He pours the coffee into the first mug he digs out from the cabinet and sits with Jack on the floor gulping down the burning coffee between offered handfuls of cereal.

“You want to hear about the start of creation?”

Michael knows what is happening before the reality settles in. When his wings fail, he knows it can only be one person. When his grace is tugged at, roughly, not in the gentle way Adam does when borrowing power that Michael so willing gives. It is not the soft curling of a palm in his grace or the gentle whispers that only he can hear. It’s violent, the sensation of being slapped in the face or thrown into ice water. It’s a terrifying grip on his throat that squeezes until Michael unwraps his grace from Adam’s soul and leaves himself vulnerable and raw. He thinks if he were human, they would use words like _battered_ and _bruised_ to describe what having all senses cut and forced to be shattered completely feels like for angels. He flings Adam’s soul as best he can to the Winchesters before he is completely gone. It’s not perfect and he dislikes the Winchester’s immensely, but he knows they are the safest option. If something were to happen. They feel guilty, they would protect Adam from Chuck the best they could. He doesn’t know where he is only that it is cold, so cold, it shouldn’t be this cold near his father. He’s in a new body but there is no soul, he thinks Adam would call it ‘custom made’ and that is what he fears most. This body is not a gift, it’s a cage insulated with knifes that cut into him if he tries to leave. They hook into his grace and trap him, mangle his wings so he can not fly. He wants to scream; he wants Adam to come and free him from this horrible, mangled thing he’s gotten himself caught in. But what could Adam do to save him? At the end of the day, he’s only human and his captor is God. But still, still he wants him to even when he knows it is impossible. He wants to see Adam again; he wants to see Adam smile and hold his hand and press kisses into his cheeks that mean nothing and ask for nothing other than for him to know that Adam loves him.

He wants. He wants. He wants.

“You weren’t built to want.” His father says and digs his hand past fake skin directly into Michael’s core.

And so, he doesn’t.

Adam dreams of fire. It’s roaring through his veins burning him up from the inside out. He dreams of knives cutting through his skin and screaming until his voice doesn’t work. He dreams of his soul being twisted and turned until he’s a shell, his dreams morph into nightmares and his nightmares into reality. But he never dreams of ghouls and teeth, he doesn’t dream of falling into the inky expanse of hell. He doesn’t even dream of the clown from Sally Anderson’s 9th birthday party that made everyone think he was secretly a serial killer or something. It’s how he knows this isn’t his dreams, it’s not ever his brain trying to cope with his memories of the cage like Sam so tentatively warned him about now that Michael isn’t there. It’s not his brain seeped in fear or his body being ripped apart and put back together all wrong. It’s Michael and his soul is trying to process the vastly different senses and experiences of an archangel to a human sized pill. It doesn’t make him feel any better, the cold and raw terror that settles in his stomach every time he wakes up knowing what he does.

Michael is being tortured.

Adam is safe.

Michael tells himself this, repeating it on loop every time he sees his father approach him with new complaints about the Winchesters. He complains and complains and then complains about Adam sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. It makes him feel warm inside when his father tells him that. Adam is trying to save him; he hasn’t cast him aside to history. He has a body, but he can’t use it, so he imagines it is more for convenience than for utility. It’s a rather useless gesture when he bites his own tongue off instead of answering his father’s probing questions about the Winchesters and Adam in particular. Still the look of rage on Chuck’s face, one he had feared before with all his being, makes it worth the punishment for his impertinence. He doesn’t stop to think why Chuck needs him to tell him things he should already know. Chuck should be omnipotent; he is the all-knowing wrathful God that Michael called father for centuries. The one that taught him to fly by throwing him off a cliff, taught obedience through fists and blame, always kept a knife to Michael’s back pushing him forward with no sense of recourse.

He thinks Raphael might have known the monster sleeping in their beds. Sweet, gentle Raphael who healed broken bones and tiny scrapes with the same intensity and always saw more than they should. Raphael who turned cold and sharp after God’s departure from Heaven and the beginning of Michael’s tenure as the Viceroy. Raphael who became a soldier, a real soldier, with blood-stained hands not from healing but killing their brothers and sisters. Raphael who wanted nothing more than for Michael to tear apart Lucifer in retribution and in the same breath called their father dead. Raphael who spat Gabriel’s name with venom befitting Lucifer and called him a traitor. How could Raphael have become that; how could he have blindly followed a father who would left that happen to his own children. For what? A better story.

_“Stop blaming other people for your mistakes. Raphael is your fault, take some accountability.”_

Adam?

_“The one and only, Halo. Miss me?”_

He wants to cry; Adam is here and if Adam is here then that means he is saved. No more torture, no more pain, no more father. Just Adam. Adam who loves him and holds his hand and shows him humanity with the good and the bad. Adam who goaded him eating a lemon and was disappointed when he didn’t make a face at the sour taste. Adam who is good. Adam who is pure even after centuries in the cage. His grace surges to meet him but it catches on the hooks and makes him scream in agony. He just wants to get to Adam, to hold him and be held. He wants to feel safe again.

He wants. He wants. He wants.

_“Who said I want you?”_

Adam has started going on hunts with his brother, there are no leads on where Michael could be and he’s starting to exhaust every option he could think of. He doesn’t even really want to go hunting, the idea of being trapped in a car with his brother’s for over an hour is enough to make the idea taste like bile on his tongue. But he goes anyways because he’s a better medic than both of his brothers combined and has been keeping himself entertained by rereading first aid manuals and all the neat tricks the men of letters have stored in the archives. Apparently, hunters aren’t any smarter now than in the 1940’s. Besides, he needs Jack and Castiel to start conserving that precious grace for when he kicks the hornet’s nest to get Michael back.

They don’t leave the bunker unless it’s an emergency and they are needed so Adam spends most of his time in the library and the archives combing through everything they have on god, virtually nothing, and the archangels, slightly more than nothing. He’s reread all historical documentation of times they suspected Michael was on earth until he could recite it by heart, added corrections to all the theories about how angels grace worked. He’s tried every summoning sigil he could fine and then a few more supplied by Castiel but all would die unsuccessful. He’s tried editing demon summoning spells to drag Michael back to him but all he got was burning herbs and a cut on his palm that didn’t heal.

“You need to slow down.” Dean says to him in passing arms crossed and leaning over his scattered selection of books like a disappointed brother Adam doesn’t need. “He’s not coming back. Michael is a daddy’s boy if he isn’t answering, he ain’t coming back.”

Adam hasn’t ever really gotten into a fight before. But he still catches Dean off guard when he slams his fist into his mouth. Sam and Castiel are there in an instant pulling them apart before Dean hits him back. He knows he’s screaming at him, unable to ignore the sharp pain in his soul that he knows is Michael. Michael who promised to never abandon him. Michael who was in pain. Michael who _needed_ him. He says things he doesn’t mean and then he says things that he does but shouldn’t say. He doesn’t care. He wants them to hurt too. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that the Winchesters never seem to hurt when they do. Michael shouldn’t be the price to pay in their war. He gets sent to his room like a teenager to cool off, but he doesn’t have the energy left to snap at them as he falls onto the bed. He closes his eyes and tries to concentrate instead of finding that sliver of grace nestled in his chest and grabbing hold of it. He wants Michael to hear him, for whatever comfort it might be to the archangel.

“I’ll find you again Michael. I promise.”

Lucifer has been revived at some point. His little brother doesn’t approach him, only lingers in the door to this make shift prison. He never sees him outside of his peripheral, but Adam always hisses when he approaches. The days have lulled, he hardly even sees Chuck anymore instead he sleeps or doing something equivalent. He spends all his time with Adam who will curl his fingers through Michael’s hair and whisper to him that everything will be okay, he’s not alone and in the same breath damn him for eternity with the cruel words tucked behind concern. He deserves it, he thinks, for everything he has done. Forcing Adam to hold him in body, manipulate him into loving a monster. Is that not what Michael is in the end? A monster? He is surely not an angel, not with the blood dripping from his clenched fists. Not when the pain he has caused is still radiating through the world. Michael is a tumor. He takes and he takes, and he does nothing but cause festering misery wherever he goes. Adam had loved him because he stole everything Adam had left. He selfishly claimed Adam as his own, twisted his grace into the fabric of his soul like a disease.

Michael spends days, weeks, months, years he doesn’t even know. All he knows is this room and this horrible body and Adam. Adam who has never lied to him. Adam who tells him the truth even if he wishes, begs for him not to. Adam rips his heart out and tears it to pieces with a smile because that is what Michael _deserves_. He is no better than the ghouls, a parasite living off his host in hopes to gain something. He had wanted Dean, chased them across the country and killed their friends and he took Adam anyways. The backup, the plan B, on his orders Adam was tortured into saying yes and he kept saying yes because he was scared. Adam lays it all out for him clearer than it has ever been and gives him truths for tears. Angels were never meant to cry, and he wonders, idly, if Castiel does or if this is another imperfection ironed out in the final design. People’s opinions had never mattered to Michael before, he was a weapon and if he cut then there was nothing wrong with him. But Adam’s opinion matters to him more than anything, more than God himself.

Adam _matters_ to him.

 _“Should have thought of that before you dragged me to hell.”_ Adam scoffs above him dragging his nails painfully over his scalp. He wants to complain but he screws his mouth shut, he deserves the pain. It’s a small price to pay for everything he’s done.

“I didn’t mean to.” He says instead.

 _“Of course, you didn’t **mean** too. You’re like a child. You smash through people’s things and you don’t even realize it.”_ Adam doesn’t sound like his Adam. Adam isn’t so cruel, he wouldn’t say such hurtful things, he knows Michael would have gotten him out if he could. They were supposed to be saved. It wasn’t his fault. This isn’t real, this isn’t Adam. “ _You aren’t listening to me. I would have never gone to Hell if it weren’t for you. Why didn’t you leave my soul in Heaven when Castiel set us on fire? You had my body already.”_ Adam hissed and yanked on his hair again. It drags the hooks in his grace, and he tries not to scream, tries not to curse this body built to hurt him with every movement.

“I needed you.” He tries to explain even when Adam is digging his fingers into his grace, hurting him, making him bleed and his blood to sweep into his mouth until Michael must swallow it down.

_“You were selfish.”_

“Lucifer had to be stopped.”

_“You were greedy.”_

“No-“

_“You didn’t care.”_

“I do-“

_“Liar.”_

“I’m not a liar.”

_“You are. You say sweet word and cut my throat at the same time.”_

“No! I wouldn’t do that!”

_“You will.”_

“I won’t.”

_“Whatever you say Halo.”_

And then he was gone, and Michael was alone again. Mercifully and horrible alone. He doesn’t see Adam again even when he calls to him. The silence is crushing him, and he screams until his vocal cords snap and he’s left mute. He wants to see Adam again no matter how selfish that makes him. He needs Adam to know that he loves him, he can’t remember if he ever said it. Does Adam know? Did he ever say he was sorry? What if he doesn’t come back? He doesn’t know how long he lays there. Suffering the deafening silence of his own thoughts. He’s thankfully for angel’s near perfect memory, forgetting Adam’s soul, his face, his smile is a fate worse than death. So, he lays there committing everything Adam to memory until it’s seared into his eyelids. He is doing exactly that when Chuck returns leaning over him with a smile and a promise.

It’s been exactly 2 months since Michael taken and Adam is worse for wear. Every option is exhausted not even the prophet knows where he is. How was he supposed to find Michael is a literal life line to God himself couldn’t? He’s asleep when it happens, every alarm in the bunker goes off at once and the flashing red lights hurt his eyes when he stumbles out of his room. He sleeps long hours but can never get enough rest. Castiel has equated it to withdrawal, he’s used to having an archangel in his body acting as a secondary battery pack. Now his body must run itself and neither it nor he has the energy or the will power to do that. Sam seems determined to keep him alive though given his soul will be amazon primed right back to hell and he will probably break the record for fastest human to become a demon ever. If Adam weren’t aware of how easily a regular angel could crush a demon, he’d probably consider it a viable plan to get Michael back. Regardless the bunker is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree and he’s relegated to standing next to Jack awkwardly as Sam and Dean run around like frazzled chickens and Castiel runs interference with angel radio.

He’s half tempted to go get a cup of coffee and wait the madness out. He reasons that if it is Chuck then they are screwed anyways and if isn’t then it’s not his problem. Nothing Not Michael Related is his problem, unless it falls into the vastly over used category of his brothers being morons and getting their arms nearly ripped off. He’s just started to drag Jack into the kitchen when there is a piercing feeling that makes his ears ring and it feels like the world is shaking around him. He catches sight of Jack’s face and the sound of a plate falling and smashing to the ground which brings him to the wonderful conclusion that the world is in fact falling apart around him. The bunker is continuing to scream in his ears when something else cuts through. Something familiar even though it sounds like someone dragged their voice box through a cheese greater. He feels his heart squeeze anxiously as he stumbles past his brothers throwing his shoulder into the door and shoving the bunker’s door open, passing through the protective warding and into the snow as the burning bright light of _his_ angel swirls above the bunker. “Michael!” He screams, sobs, drops to his knees, and swears that nothing else matters. His brother’s war doesn’t matter, and he prays, begs, God to just let him have this one thing. To not take Michael away from him again and they won’t step a toe out of line. He can’t do this again. He can’t lose Michael again.

 _“Ą̷_ _͏_ _̯ͅ_ _͕_ _̤̙̝_ _͎_ _̪d_ _͘_ _̷̱̕_ _͓_ _̙̹_ _͎_ _a̵̡̼̙_ _͇͍_ _̟̰̖̩̯ͅ_ _͕_ _m̷̡_ _͙͚͘͟_ _̙̘̖̞̠̭_ _͖”_ Michael sounds like hell but Adam still sobs gratefully as he stares up into Michael’s light. “A͡͏̦̙̥d̢̹̟͖̗a̛̙͕̘͎̗͈̪͙̯̕͞m͚ ̸̡̣̲h͎̟e̡͚͕̙͎l̲̩͘p̱̱ ̟̺̰̩̻̫͎ͅm̤̝͕͕̕͢e̜͓͓̻̣̭͍̖̮͘”

“Please, just tell me what you need Michael” He reaches up, but Michael doesn’t extend his grace down to wrap around his wrist. He doesn’t do anything, just hovers, watching him like Adam is something strange and warped.

“S̷̩͇̙̤͘ͅa̪̪͔͚̩̝y̢̳͔̟͜ ̷̧̣̰͘y̗̜̖͙̦͍̼ḙ͓͈̖ͅs̸̛̥̹̳͝.”

“ ** _Yes._** ”

Michael’s grace crashes down onto him and he closes his eyes finally feeling right as the angel wraps back around his soul like he never left. It’s over, finally over and Adam can relax for the first time in 2 months. No more sleepless nights, no more sudden pains, no more worrying about someone he can’t even find let alone reach. Michael is safe, Adam is sane, and they are complete again. Just like they were meant to be. “Gave me a real scare there Halo.” He jokes rubbing his chest where he thinks his soul might sit. Michael is silent and Adam ignores the sudden seize of anxiety rippling up his spine that something is wrong. Nothing is wrong. Michael is just tired, that’s all, who knows what happened to him. But he’s back and everything if _fine_. Michael would never hurt him, he’s not in any danger with a literal archangel inside him.

So why does he feel like he is?

The snow is soaking into his pants so instead of lingering on his body’s overactive flight instinct and the cold that makes his skin god numb, he goes inside passing through the warding to a finally silent and normal bunker. Everyone looks tired and worse for wear as he gives a half convincing smile. “Everything’s okay.” He croaks out at Sam’s concerned half-pleading look to not have the other shoe drop on them at the ass crack of dawn. “It’s just-“ His words catch in his throat as Michael surges forward grace burning his insides in a way he never has before. “ _What are you doing?”_ He asks panicked as Michael wrestles for control. _“Michael you’re hurting me.”_

Nothing.

He forces himself to lock down, just like how Michael taught him to if he ever got possessed. It had always been hypothetical, but Adam had demanded he teach him. Just in case they got separated. He never imagined actually needing it, never imagined having to use it against Michael. The apparition that used to bring him such comfort fizzles into existence and he knows something is wrong. Very wrong. Michael’s eyes are completely blue, grace barely held back and exposed. His face has no expression and it’s Wrong, Michael is always emoting in some way. The turn of his mouth when he’s thinking, the crinkle at the edges of his eyes when smiles, the ever so slight raising of an eyebrow when Adam says something, he thinks is ridiculous, but he doesn’t want to offend him, the stupid little head tilt that Adam loves when he’s thinking. It’s all gone, erased with no trace left of the Michael he knows. It’s gone. Michael’s gone. The though consumes him even as Michael wraps his hands around his neck burning bruises into his skin and Adam lets him. He sobs and he lets him.

“Michael please.”

_“Don’t listen to him.”_

“Michael-“

_“You didn’t even know what real pain was before us. Don’t you want to make him pay? We broke you.”_

“Please stop. This isn’t you.”

_“Oh, but it is you. You’re a monster, a weapon. Weapons are meant to be used. Follow your orders Michael. Be the good son you were always meant to be.”_

“Come on Halo. You can fight him.”

_“You can’t. You’re weak. Selfish. Arrogant. Greedy. You just want the pain to stop. You’re killing us because you like it.”_

“Michael!”

_“Finish it!”_

“God damnit Michael **_love_** you, for once in your life think for yourself!” Adam screams reeling his fist back, taking hold of the sliver of Michael’s grace that had been his life line for two months, and swings. His fist cracks against Michael’s jaw and the angel let’s go. The world shudders around him and he scrambles for control as Michael pulls back into some corner of his mind. The war room is a wreck and Adam are pretty sure Dean shot him at some point. There is a Castiel sized indent in the tiled wall and Jack is frozen where Adam had originally left him. He looks down realizing he has his hands wrapped around Dean’s neck who looks just about as startled as he does.

“Adam?” Dean wheezes.

“Ta-da.” Adam manages to get out before the world tilts, and he passes out.

He finds out later that he slept about a week and not a single peep from Michael the entire time. Which is weird because Michael used to take his turn in the pilot’s seat while Adam slept but then again…maybe it wasn’t so surprising. He stares up at the ceiling counting the cracks in it while waiting for the archangel to make himself known. He knows he’s there, the heavy weight against his soul is a telltale sign of it, the healed bullet wound is a sure fire one. “Hey Halo.” Adam whispers and gets nothing but static in return. He frowns trying to suppress the anger at being ignored after an attempted murder. “Michael.” He snaps “I know your in there. Stop ignoring me.” He waits listening to the hum of the generator when he finally feels Michael shift pinging back on his radar from wherever he was sulking. He’s not afraid, even though he probably should be, death doesn’t have the same heavy feeling when you’ve gotten your ticket punched a second time. “Michael.” He huffs again when the angel seems determined to pretend, he can’t hear him. “You can’t hide in my brain forever. You’ll get bored I’ll drag you out. We need to talk about what happened.”

 _“To dangerous.”_ Michael says opening the connection just long enough to snap it shut again.

“Why?” He asks sitting up and groaning when the phantom pain in his throat flairs up. He knows it’s healed; he wouldn’t be having such an easy time breathing if it hadn’t been. There’s predicably no response as he closes his eyes concentrated on finding Michael wherever his and grabbing onto the connection between them yanking on it until it’s open again. “Would it hurt to tell me what’s wrong?” He asked, “We don’t keep secrets.”

 _“Yes. It would.”_ Michael answers and before he can slither away Adam is grabbing hold again.

“Were you in control?” He frowns clenching his fists. Michael wasn’t telling him something, anything really, but he was taking great pains not to let Adam see him. He was putting up barriers like before, before their agreement, when he could fool Adam into thinking he was just another dick with wings.

_“Yes.”_

“Liar.” The barrier doesn’t come up fast enough for him to miss the spike of panic as Michael scrambles to cover up whatever he’s feeling. “Did he hurt you?” Adam doesn’t need to elaborate there is only one person who could really hurt Michael.

 _“You can’t hurt a weapon.”_ He sounds broken, tired, like this isn’t the first time Michael has had this conversation and he already knows how it will play out. Which is half true, Adam has never liked his bad habit of disregarding his own feelings.

“You aren’t a weapon.”

 _“A monster then.”_ That was new. Michael had always been righteous. Doubt his motivations? Sure. But that he was right? Rarely. Killing was never something Michael had taken lightly, and Adam had never considered him a monster before. He knows what monsters look like he’s had exclusive VIP face time with two.

“You aren’t a monster.”

 _“I hurt you.”_ Michael counters weepily, his grace is heavy on Adam’s soul waiting to be kicked out and cast aside again. Well, that’s too bad, he was stuck with Adam and he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

“And? Dean hurts me every other day when he forces me to practice hand to hand. Sam hurts me with his terrible cooking. Have you seen Castiel and Dean fight? It’s painful for everyone.” He’s trying to lighten the mood and elicit a very particular emotion, just to get a change of pace from the heavy depression seeping into his body.

There it is.

Michael can’t hide that protective anger, the rush of grace through his veins looking for the smallest bruise to heal. “There you are Halo.” He whispers leaning back into his pillows rubbing his hand over his chest to work out the pressure sitting there. He doesn’t ask if Michael wants to talk about it because they are definitely talking about it, but he does give Michael a brief break to settle back down. “Can you show me?” He asks and gently coaxes Michael back when the angel recoils. “You gotta tell me what’s wrong Halo. I can’t read your mind when you’ve got these walls up.”

There’s a pause.

 _“You should kill me_ ” Michael finally says sounding already there for all it’s worth.

“Hell no.” He snaps “You’re stuck with me.”

_“Dean would do it.”_

“Dean’s an idiot. Don’t evade, death is off the table. We can talk about it the old-fashioned way or you can show me, but we aren’t dropping this.” He pauses before deciding that yes, it’s worth taking the low road for the betterment of whatever the hell is going on. “You did try and strangle me to death and as much as I would have loved to see you flex that archangel power, that was very much not a group activity.” He waits and then waits a little bit longer until Michael starts taking the walls back down.

_“I’m sorry.”_

“I know you are Halo. Show me.”

And so, he does.

He sees every cut, felt every prick of pain the body Chuck had stuffed Michael into, he sees Lucifer dancing in the corners of Michael’s vision. He sees a fake puppet of him walking Michael away from the ledge only to push him right back to it. He knows that Chuck could never break Michael and he’s always known that Lucifer was a psychopath, but he had never thought the other archangel would do something like this. Chuck thought brute force would break Michael, but his angel is already well accustomed to pain, it’s Lucifer that knew. Lucifer had seen them in the cage, he knows Adam is Michael’s weak spot that Michael _trusts_ Adam. He knows he’s crying, ugly crying, as he watches Michael struggle and then break when Lucifer yanks the puppet away. He knows why Michael broke, God shattered him and put him back together to deliver the final blow to his sanity. The promise of no more pain, no more feeling, and all he had to do was be what he was made to do.

Made to serve.

Made to die.

Michael is silent as he pulls them both out of his memories. Adam presses his hand against his check reminding himself that it’s all over. He pulled Michael out like Michael pulled him out of the cage. They were together, God didn’t win, Lucifer’s nasty little trick didn’t stick. They underestimated Adam; he would tear them apart for Michael’s sake. Fuck ‘the balance of the universe’ Adam was going to _shatter_ Chuck. See how he likes it when Adam is crushing him beneath his own two hands.

 _“You’re angry.”_ Michael tentatively interrupts his train of thought before Adam see’s red for the rest of his life.

“Not at you.” He had to take a minute to close his eyes to count and calm down. It wouldn’t do either of them any good for Adam to seethe when they both need comfort. “Can you, you know do the thing?” He asks waving his hand awkwardly. Michael seizes up, scared, and Adam has to gently coax him back again from the blind panic that sends his flight or fight instinct flaring. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

 _“That’s the problem.”_ Michael grumbles irritated before he flickers into existence in front of Adam looking like a kicked puppy.

“Come here Halo.” Adam gestures tugging Michael’s wrist until the angel is half laying on top of him, half in a hug with his head buried in Adam’s shoulder. “You let loose you know. My mom always said it’s cathartic to cry.” He whispers tears already pricking his own eyes again.

“Angels don’t cry.” Michael argued voice muffled in Adam’s shirt.

“You do.” Adam rolled his eyes squeezing Michael tighter as the angel wrapped his arms around him and the soft shudders started to wrack his shoulder.

“Please don’t leave me.” Michael croaks out sniffling tightening his grip as he said it, squeezing Adam like a vice.

“Hold on Halo I still need you.”


End file.
